Gabu
  
The battering restlessness of the sea 
Insists a tidal fury upon the beach 
At Gabu, and its pure consistency 
Havocs the wasteland hard within its reach. 
 
Brutal the daylong bashing of its heart 
Against the seascape where, for miles around, 
Farther than sight itself, the rock-stones part 
And drop into the elemental wound. 
 
The waste of centuries is grey and dead 
And neutral where the sea has beached its brine, 
Where the spilt salt of its heart lies spread 
Among the dark habiliments of Time. 
 
The vital splendor misses.  For here, here 
At Gabu where the ageless tide recurs 
All things forfeited are most loved and dear. 
 
It is the sea pursues a habit of shores.

--Carlos A. Angeles